'If you want top quality protection or any kind of shit done properly, ask for the 'Crimson Streak'. '
A frazzled youth just walked into a bar deep in the slums of Westopolis. He looked like a mess. Facial hair barely shaved on his white skin. Leather coat wrapped tightly around a narrow build with an over worn white shirt and faded gray pants and shoes.
This man honestly didn't belong in the scene of the bar. The lights were low so the patrons were barely noticeable but then again, they didn't say a word. Most of them too drunk to care. Yet the man was just too jumpy. His head swerved in every direction as if something was going to snatch and drag him into the darkness for eternity.
But this man was here for a reason.
'Word of warning, sir. If the offering ain't worth squat to him, the service will be denied. And if he wants to snuff you out, he will.'
He was taking a chance, yes. But damn it, he still had a life to live. He still had women to sleep with, goals to accomplish.
Walking up to the gruff bartender, the youth slid into a stool carefully. After making sure he was comfy enough, he faced the elder. "How well do you know the people around here?"
All he got was a raised eyebrow in response. So he clarified. "Alright, I'll be straight with you. I got a tip that the 'Crimson Streak' either hangs around here or keeps in contact with you. Can you reach him for me?"
The old man just stared at the youth. He's seen a lot of 'clients' ask for that particular name in the past. And it varies each time. Hell, even women seek his service though he wonders what they request…
To the point, this man, no kid, didn't look like he had the ground to last a minute with Crimson. But hey, he wasn't his manager. He was only a bartender.
So with that, the man jerked his head to a red door and the youth instantly got the message. As the old door creaked open and shut, the bartender wondered what the judgment will be.
The hallway was dark and foreboding. The footing under the youth felt like it would give away even though the payment was as normal as any other ground to walk on.
The mood in the basement really didn't make the youth feel good. But he would bare it. As he finished that thought, he came to another old door. This one looked like it taken a lot of punishment however.
Regardless, the youth knocked on the door and hoped for something. A minute passed and the youth knocked again. No response. Another minute, another knock. The youth didn't turn back because he needed the job done by tomorrow. No way in hell cops would listen to him. The youth was about to get desperate and bang his fist on the door when a smooth voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Come in."
The youth grasp the old knob and turned it slowly. As the creak of the door reverberated through the low lit hallway, the man's tension grew.
Then he looked at the being who gained the moniker 'Crimson Streak'.
"You-you're short!"
Indeed. The being in front of the youth wasn't the tallest of beings. Or maybe that was because its back was turned while in a meditative position?
Either way, from what the youth could tell, the being in front of him had 5 spines sticking out from the back of its head and a dark body.
"Are you 'Crimson Streak'?"
The figure didn't move when he was addressed. This pissed off the youth. He was already shaken up due to his situation. The mood from when he came into the bar to this point didn't help either. And to come this far just to address some…creature?
"Hey! You heard me, you-"
Was as far as he got before he felt pain in his mid-region. He didn't even blink. Just sudden pain arriving when he least expected it. That's when the youth realized he was clutching his stomach in pain. He tried to breath but even that was difficult. As he got on his knees to assuage the pain, he looked up and regretted it.
Now that the figure stood at its full height, he got a clear picture of who 'Crimson' was. A red streak stood out in the middle of its head while the rest was under the spines. A white tuff of hair made up the chest of the being and makes you wonder if you can sleep in it. Complete with what looked like red and white rocket shoes and gold wristbands, 'Crimson Streak' set his most well-known assets on the youth.
His blood red eyes. Eyes that made you made think twice about double-crossing the owner. Eyes that even made those with the strongest of wills bow down. Eyes that regarded you will varied patience.
That's when the youth knew that the next words that came out of his mouth was his last.
"S-sorry I offended you. Just expected some tall guy who wears crimson, you know? Hehehe…"
"State your business or get out."
The youth gulped and dove right in. "Right, here's the story. You know the lotto game, right? Were people pick random numbers on a ticket and if those numbers are called on the news, they win cash right? Well, I happened to be the lucky bastard who won the thing. You could tell how happy I was." Crimson noted that his eyes looked alight with greed but kept quiet. "Anyways, I couldn't contain how happy I was! Right then and there at a grocery store, I bragged to everybody that I was on cloud nine! In my fervor, I didn't notice this one guy who didn't look too friendly. And from the looks of his friends, they shared the sentiment. They followed me after I cashed in and threatened to give me the money. I was still confident then so I didn't go down easy. One of his guys decided to mess with me and I managed to hold my own. Good thing the cops showed to because it was about to get intense."
The youth then got to the nitty gritty. "The first guy happened to be the leader and he promised me that I would die by tomorrow and collect my money. I thought it was a bluff but when I came home from a friend's house, it was in shambles. And my bedroom wall had a message carved on it. It said 'By tomorrow, you're dead.' I called my brother on the payphone and told him to come get me but he couldn't because of business back home occupying him until tomorrow. This is where you come in. I want you to find those guys and kill them by tomorrow evening. I'll pay you a quarter of my winnings if it's done."
Crimson looked at the youth for a moment. Studying him like a predator would. Then he spoke. "It would seem you messed with Kuroda's gang. He doesn't cause trouble unless you provoke him." He paused again. "Very well. Come back at 5:00 pm. The job will be done. Make sure to bring the money. Now leave."
The youth obeyed. He couldn't look in those eyes anymore. He'll be having nightmares for sure. Thank god he was leaving tomorrow.
Kuroda was on a mission. Usually, he and his gang didn't directly go after anybody unless he was in a drunken rage (God, pray for the victim.). But this punk acted like he was better than hard working people and took on his men. With the contacts he established in Westopolis, he found the punk's place and destroyed it. That was to send a message.
He was dying today and taking that cash.
One of his men came up to him, the stench of cigarettes rolling off of him in waves. "Boss, were ready. Let's light the bastard."
Kuroda got up from his seat and prepared for the job but a scream tore through his hideout. "AAHHHHH!"
That instantly got him alarmed. Even more so when another tore through. That wasn't possible. The punk didn't look like he had strong friends. So why were his men…oh shit! If he was right-
"Get out of here quickly! Crim-" Was as far as he got before the man in front of him got his head chopped off in a second. The head rolled on the ground in a frozen expression of fear. The blood continued to pour out of the body as Kuroda backed up from the growing puddle.
"I know you here, Crimson! If that punk hired you, you're nothing but a slut who cares about a pretty penny!"
"I wonder about that…"
His smooth voice cut through the room. Kuroda loaded his pistol and aimed its sights all around the room. He heard of Crimson's exploits all around Westopolis. Hell, people come from all over just to get his services. Why?
He never failed at his jobs.
And if that punk hired Crimson to kill him, then he was done. A shame too. Sometimes, he wanted someone like Crimson in his gang. Effective. Sharp. Brutal. Traits he liked. But that didn't mean he mean he was going down easy.
Kuroda fired in all the spots in the room. The bullets clashed with the concrete of the dark hideout. The man knew he might attract attention with his recklessness but he didn't care.
Once he ran out of ammo, Kuroda scanned the area. Bullet holes littered the area with smoke wafting in the after. Kuroda tried to calm himself but the beating of his heart pounded his eardrums and clouded out everything else.
"You know this is nothing personal, Kuroda. Just business. I actually respected the rep you held in this city. But I guess this was bound to happen."
That was the last thing Kuroda heard before he saw no more.
Crimson eyed the youth in front of him. Sometimes, he wondered if his clients deserved to live. Then again, considering who he was, he kept his mouth shut.
"Kuroda is no more. You can leave this city knowing that."
"Thank you so much, Crimson. Again, I apologize for doubting you. Here's your cut."
After the youth dropped the proper amount of bills, he left just as quickly.
Crimson eyed the money. Now that he wasn't Crimson anymore, he reflected himself as Shadow the Hedgehog. But then again, was there a difference between the two?
Once upon a time, he wondered how he came to being. Then after realizing his talents, he decided to use them for something. After he learned the meaning of being a mercenary, he took it up. Turned out he excelled at it. So much that he gained the moniker 'The Crimson Streak' because of his red and black scheme and the pure speed he exhibited. Honestly, he wanted a better name but he cared less.
And the rewards…well they were more of a formality than anything. He actually didn't need the money but he figured it would be useful down the line.
That's right. Shadow didn't care about the past. He dealt with the present and prepared himself for the future.
Yello, guys! This story was actually the first one that I wrote/published for fanfiction. I stopped because I lost the motivation to continue with it. Who knows? Maybe it'll happen again. But over 15 chapters of it are just sitting in my hard drive so why not see where it goes?
Criticism is gold.